


Absence Makes the Dick Grow Fonder

by tylerfucklin (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, New Relationship, Phone Sex, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tylerfucklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles frowned, “…do you <i>want</i> to hang up?”</p>
<p>This time, Stiles could hear the hitch in Derek’s breath, and it was enough to give him the courage to ask, “do you want me to tell you what I’m doing?”</p>
<p>“what are you doing?” Derek croaked lowly. There was the sound of a door closing on the other line, followed by the creak of bed springs. </p>
<p>“Fucking into my hand,” Stiles blurted with a groan, his body getting hot just thinking about Derek lying on his bed back in Beacon Hills and touching himself, “thinking of you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absence Makes the Dick Grow Fonder

**Author's Note:**

> First of the holiday writing commissions! They wanted phone sex, new relationship, and top!stiles with some mentions of rimming and Stiles pining in high school. I think I got it all @__@

Despite the fact that Stiles had agreed completely to the whole ‘hide the humans until the Djinn is found’ plan, it still sucked. It sucked for many reasons; but the main reason it sucked was because he could be getting laid at that exact moment.

Well, he _could_ be, but Stiles wasn’t sure if he _would_ be. Whatever he and Derek had was new--brand new. As in, mutually recognized on the trip up to Oregon when he and Derek were stuck alone in the car for a four hour drive. Lydia, Allison, Danny, and Danny’s boyfriend, Mike, had all crammed into Danny’s tiny hybrid car, which had left Stiles the odd one out. 

Not that he really cared. Since Mike was there, that meant that Danny spent less time interrogating Stiles about his big gay boner for Derek and more time trying to impress his boyfriend with his vast knowledge of the spooky and snarly (all of which were things Stiles had taught him about back in their senior year of high school).

Still; the whole confession-of-undying-love had not been on Stiles’ list of ‘things to expect when trapped in a car with Derek for multiple hours’. Really, it probably had to do with the Djinn and the fact that Derek hadn’t slept in two days because he had been too busy trying to keep watch over the humans in his pack to get any proper rest.

Not that Derek was one to really overwork himself for the pack--that’s why they had more than one werewolf, after all. The problem was that Djinn had this nasty little habit of pricking people with a small stinger on the inside of their wrist and bam, it was wish-fulfillment dreamland for everyone.

They found out after their second run-in with it that Derek was the only one who could get himself out of the dreams fast enough for it to matter. For humans, there was practically no way to wake from what was, essentially, an induced coma. Scott and the other betas could work their way through it quickly; but not quick enough. They’d almost lost Allison because of it. 

Stiles was probably to blame for most of that, anyway. The first time they’d tried to trap the Djinn, he’d gotten a little cocky with his bag’o’ash, but it turns out that a Djinn is pretty much an entity of belief, which apparently negates the effects of mountain ash. Luckily, Stiles had come a long way from high school. He’d whipped out at least three different spells to at least distract the Djinn long enough for Derek to get a good gutting in.

Except that had really, only pissed the Djinn off. The worst thing about pissing a Djinn off was that they were telepathic monsters; which was why every human in the pack became a target. It made sense. Revenge was a dish best served with a magical coma, after all.

So that was why they were going to Oregon in the first place. Danny’s grandmother lived by herself in the old family home, and it had taken minimal begging for her to agree to house a bunch of college kids for a couple weeks during the summer. 

And, well, maybe Stiles had bitched just the tiniest bit about Derek taking him up there; he had a car, after all. Except Derek’s counter-argument had simply been to point out that, if Stiles didn’t have a mode of transportation, he wasn’t likely to be a dumbass and drive back to help out if things got difficult. 

That turned into a yelling match, which devolved into Stiles demanding Derek pull off the highway so that he could walk the rest of the way to Oregon (because Stiles was stubborn and had maybe just wanted Derek to admit that he was worried) which turned into more arguing. 

Until Derek _had_ pulled over. He’d pulled right into a rest top, threw the car into park, and had turned at Stiles to shout, “what do you want me to do, Stiles?! Do you want me to just let you run around getting hurt? Is that what you want; because I can’t do that! _I can’t_!” with such desperation and frustration that Stiles could tell the lack of sleep was finally getting to him. Stiles was pretty sure he’d never been so forcefully shocked into silence before.

He was also pretty sure he’d never been more confident that he and Derek meant more to each other than just friends. That was probably what gave him the courage to ask Derek that exact question; the one that left Derek reeling as he tried to take in the words, “what am I to you?”

Derek’s silence wasn’t a bad one; it was a scared one.

So of course, Stiles had talked--more than probably necessary. He’d gone on to say how he was sure they weren’t just friends, that they were a little too co-dependent to be just that. Then there had been the evidence. Stiles was good at that, so he had pointed out all the times that he and Derek had dealt with extreme sexual tension between one another, and that Stiles had totally seen Derek looking at his ass at least three times in the past month alone.

The more Stiles talked, the paler Derek got until Stiles finally blurted, “which, all of this is great, really. I just wish we could kind of stop avoiding it because I like you, you like me, we should tango. Horizontally…like on the bed…in a horizontal, lying down position.”

Then Derek had stared some more; had stared until Stiles wasn’t so sure about how sure he had been. He had ended up shrugging and muttering, “never mind,” under his breath before looking out the window and hoping Derek would just forget everything and go back to driving.

That’s when Derek’s hand curled around his bicep, tugged gently until Stiles turned his head again.

“When we stop the Djinn,” Derek began slowly, looking at where his fingers were touching Stiles’ arm, “we’ll talk about this-- and I’ll take you out for lunch.”

Stiles can still remember the way his body flushed hot and cold when he heard those words. 

Even now, stuck on his fourth day in Danny’s grandmother’s house, Stiles wished he had done something more than nod and grin. Sure, when Derek had dropped him off, Stiles had snuck in a nervous, fast kiss to the corner of Derek’s mouth-- but he probably could have done more if he hadn’t been too busy reeling over the fact that he and Derek were going on a date after the Djinn was gone. 

The only possible upside to being trapped in Oregon with three women and two gay men was that Stiles was getting a lot of advice on relationships. A lot--more than he wanted to know. He would have been delighted to go the rest of his life without getting tips from Lydia on how to resist gagging on a penis.

Which, rude of her to think Stiles would be the one sucking dick all the time. Stiles had a lot of plans for Derek; ones that had gotten a lot bolder and kinkier now that he was on day four without so much as a quick fap in the shower and the anticipation of a shiny new boyfriend to go home to. That was probably the worst part about sharing a three bedroom, two bathroom house with six people. 

Timed showers. The bane of Stiles’ existence.

Even then, there was only so much crocheting he could do while watching reruns of Toddlers and Tiaras before he felt ready to crack. He was slowly going insane; from Lydia’s boredom making her twice as nosy, to Danny and Mike’s constant cuddling. to Allison’s tendency to always be in the exact room Stiles was hoping to lock himself in for some alone time.

Despite the aggravation in knowing that he could be spending the summer of his junior year doing things like getting drunk and having lots and lots of sex with Derek, Stiles figured he could be doing worse. He could be stuck in a basement somewhere in a magical coma, but instead he was just trapped on a musty living room couch with itchy wool blankets, trying to figure out the difference between a knit and a crochet. 

When Lydia announced to him on the morning of their fifth day that she, Allison, Danny, Mike, and Gramma May (as she preferred to be called) were going to spend the day at the flea market, Stiles wanted to drop to his knees and kiss her feet. Sure, he was invited, but instead he feigned stomach cramps at last night’s sloppy joes and let everyone wish him well before heading out the door.

The second Gramma May’s van disappeared down the road, Stiles ran around the house, shutting all of the blinds, locking every door into the house, and finally shucking his pants off on his way back to the couch. 

He didn’t even need to try and find a free adult station on TV (given that Gramma May was related to Danny, it was no surprise she had the biggest cable package imaginable). or bother getting out his laptop. Five days without any alone time had Stiles’ dick in a perpetual state of aching. All Stiles had to do was shove one hand down into his boxers and fist himself and he could already feel his dick twitching awake. 

Hand squeezing just the tiniest bit, Stiles dragged his other palm up his stomach, rubbing at his chest and then back down to his hips. He pressed on the curve of his hip, stroking himself into hardness and adding pressure just below his navel to try and simulate the weight of a body. A soft groan eeked it’s way out of Stiles’ mouth and he started to stroke faster, keeping his grip light enough that the dryness didn’t bother him too badly.

Stiles pressed down harder on his hips, thrusting up into the pressure of his palm and then dragging his fingers down to cup his balls. His boxers were getting in the way; were making it too hard to spread his legs. He started to shove them down, managing to get the elastic over his knees when his phone started ringing. 

He stared at the cell on the end table, watching it light up and buzz towards the edge. Sighing, Stiles dropped his head against the back of the couch, kicking his boxers off and cursing the higher powers. After the umpteenth time in which someone almost got killed because of a missed call, the most stressed rule in the entire pack was to always keep the phone on you and to always answer it.

_‘Even if you’re masturbating_ ,’ was probably an unspoken inclusion in the rule. He doubted whoever was on the other line would appreciate having been nearly gutted just because Stiles wanted to beat the meat for a little while. 

Stiles squeezed the base of his cock, giving it a pity-rub before he scooted his way down the couch to the end table, snagging his phone to see Derek’s name on the caller ID. He really should have expected that; Derek called twice a day to check in and make sure that everyone was doing okay--and probably to make sure Stiles hadn’t escaped and come running back to Beacon Hills to try and help out with his magic mojo. 

“City morgue,” Stiles answered cheerily, scooching back down onto the couch and putting his legs up on the opposite arm rest. He let one leg fall back to the ground, his thighs parted wide and free hand sliding between his legs.

“Funny,“ Derek said dryly, ignoring Stiles to instead steamroll into the actual point of his phone call. “How is everything over there?” 

Stiles hummed thoughtfully, playing a little bit with his foreskin. He was still pretty hard, enough that he could tug down and watch the very tip peek out before squeezing and pushing up so that the skin rolled right over the top of his dick. “Unless you count hours of watching two year old divas a threat, then nothing has changed.,“ he dragged his fist back down, feeling his cock grow harder in his hand. There were some days where he would spend a good hour playing with himself--usually out of boredom and a perpetual state of arousal.

Derek snorted, “do I want to know?”

“Save me, please,” Stiles pleaded flatly, unable to stop himself from imagining what Derek’s voice would sound in bed. His breath hitched and he rocked up into his fist while Derek started to explain how they were closing in on the Djinn’s location.

When it sounded like Derek was starting to wind down from his curt but helpful explanation of their last encounter, Stiles frantically thought of any questions he could come up with to keep him talking.

“So has anyone else been taken down by this thing?” Man, did Derek have a nice voice. Just thinking about the fact that they’d be going on their first date when he got back, and all the things they could get up to--that was enough to have Stiles’ breath hitching while Derek muttered something about a middle school teacher going missing the day prior. Stiles kind of felt bad about it, but he knew that Derek and the others would find her when they stopped the Djinn. 

They’d gotten a lot better since Stiles was in high school.

Stiles nestled his phone between his ear and shoulder, reaching down to cup his balls while he began to squeeze harder. There was too much friction, now, so Stiles licked at his palm until it was covered in saliva and resumed stroking himself.

“We’ve narrowed the location to the downtown area. There’s a bunch of condemned houses on 20th so tomorrow we’re going to start looking through-- what are you doing?” Derek cut himself off because Stiles, maybe, snagged the slit of his cock with the corner of his nail and hadn’t been able to fully stop the half-grunt, half-whimper he’d let out.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Stiles’ hand stilled for a full two second before he went back to fucking up into his fist. “You don’t wanna know,” he muttered, neck growing hot. He couldn’t help it-- he was way too wound up from nearly a week of sexual frustration. Nothing was gonna be able to stop him; not even if Derek maybe scolded him for acting like a horny teenager again.

“Are you--”

“Mmhh?” Stiles hummed, panting at the end when he caught the crack in Derek’s voice, the slight uplift of his pitch that usually depicted some sort of interest or surprise. 

There was a long, painful silence after that. Stiles didn’t know what to say, though, and he was kind of preoccupied with thumbing precum from the head of his cock and smearing it around to help make it easier to stroke himself. He tugged on the skin of his balls, rolling the left one and then slowly grabbing the other and squeezing just enough that he had to bite on his lip to keep from grunting as his hips jerked up and his cock twitched painfully.

“Are you by yourself?” Derek rasped, sounding just like he always did when he was hiding a question inside of another question.

Stiles couldn’t help but grin, audibly letting out a moan now that he knew Derek wasn’t exactly against the idea of what Stiles was doing.

“All day long,” he sang breathlessly.

This time, the silence stretched on to a point where Stiles started to wonder if Derek was even on the other line anymore. “Did you hang up?” he huffed.

“No,” Derek snapped, in that sexy, gruff voice that never ceased to make Stiles shudder. He moaned, because he was feeling a little shameless, and then started to stroke faster.

“I should,” Derek blurted.

“Only if you want to,” Stiles countered.

More silence.

Stiles frowned, “…do you _want_ to hang up?”

This time, Stiles could hear the hitch in Derek’s breath, and it was enough to give him the courage to ask, “do you want me to tell you what I’m doing?”

“what are you doing?” Derek croaked lowly. There was the sound of a door closing on the other line, followed by the creak of bed springs. 

“Fucking into my hand,” Stiles blurted with a groan, his body getting hot just thinking about Derek lying on his bed back in Beacon Hills and touching himself, “thinking of you.”

Stiles was pretty sure if he had been any further along when Derek had called, he would have cum just then from the sound of Derek’s startled whimper.

It was suddenly twice as hard to drag in air, and Stiles was all but panting into the phone when he blurted, “would you like that?” while squeezing the base of his cock and pressing his knees together.  
Derek, in all the years Stiles had known him (and, at this point, five and a half years of running around with a guy and saving each others lives was plenty of time to get to know someone), had a very distinct tell of when he was nervous or overwhelmed. There were many facets to the silence of Derek Hale. 

So when Derek kept quiet and Stiles could hear the heavy rasp of his breathing on the other end, he knew in a heartbeat that Derek was having one of his ‘I don’t want to admit to what I’m being asked, but I don’t want to deny it,’ silences.

“I would, you know,” Stiles said, trying to sound encouraging, “if you let me--I’d…I’d make you feel good,” and as soon as he started talking, Stiles really couldn’t stop. It was hard to control your mouth when you had a hand on your dick and two fingers massaging at your nuts. 

“I’d make you feel so good,” he said again, “I’d use my mouth on you, on all of you. I wanna use my tongue--”

“ _Christ_ , Stiles,” Derek gasped, hitching on a groan that sounded like it was punched right out of him. That really only served to make things worse because Stiles’ hand was moving so fast on his cock he could feel his arm starting to cramp.

“What’s it like?” Stiles blurted, “your--yeah… could I fit it in my mouth? I could try. I’d put it in my mouth and f-finger you,” Stiles squeezed his cockhead, tugging the foreskin over it and dragging it back down, pinching hard in hopes that the flare of pain would stop him from coming too soon. 

There was a creak and a rustle on the other line and Stiles could hear the second Derek touched himself, because he let out a soft noise that bordered on a sigh of relief. 

So Stiles kept going.

“Would you let me do that? I could use my tongue on you. It sounds gross but it isn’t. Think of me putting it in you w-with my fingers. I’d make you feel really good.” If there was one thing Stiles knew how to do, it was to dirty talk on the phone. He’d had his share of online girlfriends and boyfriends, and this wasn’t the first time he’d actually participated in a round of phone sex.

It was, however, the first time he’d done it with someone that he would get to have real, actual sex with.

“Are you touching yourself?” Stiles asked. Derek didn’t say anything, his breath stuttering on the other line and the rustling of clothes loud in the receiver. Stiles bit down on the corner of his lip, “you are, aren’t you? Are you hard? T-thinking about fucking me? Or about me fucking you?”

Derek groaned.

_Jackpot._

Stiles couldn’t help but grin, echoing Derek’s groan with one of his own, hips snapping up into the circle of his hand. He brought his other hand up, pressing down on his stomach like he’d done earlier and imagining it was Derek riding him--fucking himself on Stiles‘ cock

“Oh fuck,” Stiles groaned, “yeah, you‘d like that? I’d fuck you so good, man. I’ve seen the flips you can do. Think I could get your feet behind your head? Bend you in half and fuck you like that?” Stiles’ cock was dribbling precum everywhere, making a mess of his hand and helping him to start pumping his fist faster and faster.

“I’d use my tongue first,” Stiles panted weakly, “would fuck you with my mouth and get you so wet. Used to think about that all the time in high school. You have the best ass, like, ever.” 

“Fuck,” Derek grunted, sounding genuinely surprised at the utter filth coming from Stiles’ mouth. Stiles couldn’t help it, though. He always got like this when he was uncontrollably horny; it was like whatever switch controlling his verbal filter was shut off in favor of letting his dick do all the talking.

“Finger yourself,” Stiles blurted, “think of me. I bet you could smell it back then, when I was in high school--when I‘d get so hard for you every time you got anywhere near me.”

“Stiles--” Derek choked, and that’s when Stiles knew Derek was already doing it--might have been from the start.

Stiles felt his balls tense, his body starting to quiver as he gasped out, “oh shit,” as his orgasm slammed into him with enough force to shake him to his very core. Days of forced denial had Stiles’ entire body seizing up, his muscles shuddering with each pulse of cum that shot from his cock. It was like his orgasm was being wrenched out of his body and Stiles was being dragged along for the ride. 

The phone slipped from his shoulder and Stiles arched on the couch, fucking up weakly into his fist and sobbing on a moan when his leg cramped up from the intensity of his orgasm.

When the last waves finally crashed over him, Stiles collapsed back into the couch, one hand weakly fumbling for the phone while he struggled to drag air into his lungs. 

“Holy God,” Stiles gasped out into the phone, “I think I broke my dick-- it’s all over my stomach and chest and hand. Just thinking about you had me coming so hard that I think I pulled a muscle.”

Derek panted into the phone, whined in that way that said ‘I’m so close,’ and had Stiles’ dick attempting pathetically to at least show some signs of life. 

“Does that werewolf stamina work for sex? You think you could fuck me hard again after I came inside you?”

The choked noise that left Derek was pretty much the best proof Stiles could ever get that he’d just gotten Derek off with his words alone. He relished in it, soothed Derek through his orgasm with soft assurances, telling Derek all the ways they’d fuck until Derek was sucking in sharp breaths of air as he came down from his climax.

Silence fell over the line as the both of them caught their breath, and Stiles suddenly, painfully, wished Derek was there.

“When can I come home?” he asked, barely able to keep the whine out of his voice. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, shakily dragging his boxers back over his sensitive cock.

“Not yet,” Derek breathed, “I’m sorry.”

Sighing in aggravation, Stiles snatched his pants from the floor, heading for the bathroom, “I am going to --argh. I want to see you. I want to touch you. Everywhere. All the time.”

“We’re doing our best,” Derek rasped. Stiles would have been more understanding, but for a single Djinn this was just beyond ridiculous. They were almost hitting the incompetence of the rookie days.

Okay, so Stiles maybe was just cranky because he wanted more than anything to be kissing Derek instead of going to clean himself off, alone, in the shower. He sat on the toilet, turning on the shower. “Well, your best is still blueballing me,” he groused, earning a soft chuckle from Derek.

Stiles stuck his hand under the spray of the shower, testing the heat of the water. He frowned, blurting, “I miss you,” and then cringing at himself for it. He sounded pathetic.

Derek didn’t reply, and Stiles started to feel more and more idiotic. Maybe they were moving too fast, too soon. Sure, they’d known each other for almost six years, and there had been that whole discussion of mutual attraction, but still…

“That was probably weird,“ he murmured, “sorry. Neverm--“

“No, it wasn’t weird,” Derek interrupted. Stiles felt his heart hiccup in his chest and he pulled his hand out from under the shower.

“It wasn’t?” he asked, shimmying out of his boxers and trying not to sound too hopeful.

“I miss you too,” Derek answered softly.

Stiles was still grinning even after he got off the phone and hopped in the shower.


End file.
